Draco's First Quidditch Match
by Satine Davinne
Summary: It's Draco's second year at Hogwarts and he has made the Slytherin Quidditch Team!  What looks to him like opportunity turns into a comical disaster!


**Draco's First Quidditch Match**

Deep in the dark bowels of the mysterious Slytherin locker rooms…

Draco slipped his green and silver quidditch uniform over his head; the hem was six inches too long.

"Hey Draco!"

Draco leaped two feet into the air landing on the hem of his robe, and immediately after, slipped and fell face forward onto the solid concrete floor. It was Captain Marcus Flint that had called.

"What?" Draco sneered, his voice muffled by the floor underneath his face.

Flint stifled a laugh, this idiotic snob second year was, after all, the idiotic snob second year who paid for the team's new brooms. Top of the line Nimbus 2001s. Too bad the kid couldn't fly to save his life. "It's time to go out there Draco. Are you ready to kick Potter's sorry backside out of Hogwarts?" He highly doubted it, but he at least had to _act _like he had a chance.

Draco jumped up immediately, swayed a little, grabbed on to Marcus's shoulder for support, and said, two inches from his face, "I was born ready."

"I'm glad to hear it." He said off to the side, "We're doomed."

"What was that Flint?" Draco demanded.

"I said your mother is well-groomed." Marcus Flint said quickly.

"Quit eyeing my mother." Draco swayed again. "She's married."

"Are you sure you're in shape to play Draco?" Flint asked, desperately hoping he wasn't.

Draco put on a look of outrage. "Of course I can play! How else am I supposed to show you half-bloods…" he tried walking away, nearly falling over his robes again in the process, "how to stay on a broomstick?" He finally picked up the hem like a woman would a skirt, and swiftly ran into a wall, then he, with a final attempt at flourish, grabbed his broom and walked out of the locker room, nearly entering the quidditch field without the rest of the team.

To cover up his embarrassment he stood there, straight as a board, waiting, under the guise of severe impatience, for the rest of his team.

The Slytherin quidditch players filed in quietly, except for a few snickers here and there at Malfoy's expense.

As they walked out onto the quidditch pitch, Draco's stomach began to fill with butterflies. So as to not look scared in front of the team and stupid Potter he tried to picture everyone in the crowd in their underwear. At least until he spotted Dumbledore in the stands. He looked away quickly, that's just nasty.

He was staring at Hermione Granger so intently that he almost didn't hear Madame Hooch's whistle to begin the game. He shot up instantly and nearly fell off as soon as he was 20 feet in the air. Even with his grip gloves on it still felt as if he were trying to keep a tight hold on a wet bar of soap.

As soon as they had been flying for ten minutes Draco realized something terrifying… He hadn't said anything mean to Potter yet that day! He nearly fell off of his broom again. He didn't call him any bad names or make fun of his dead parents or even call his stupid Weasley friend a blood traitor to his face. What was the matter with him?

When he finally became aware of his surroundings he saw Potter doing a bunch of weird moves and loops. At first he thought that Potter had spotted the Snitch, for he had just remembered that he was supposed to find it too, and began to follow him.

Seeing this as the perfect time to mock him, Draco scoffed, "Training for the ballet Potter?" What a clever thing to say, he thought. He was, of course, referring to the loops and spins Potter had been performing. When Potter's scarlet clad body flew right past his ear, making him almost fall for the third time, Draco turned and sped after him thinking _Oh you think you just fly past my ear like it's nothing huh? Well let's see how you like it when I fly past _your _ear._ That'll teach that filthy half-blood Potter.

When he stopped daydreaming, a wooden beam magically appeared out of no where and knocked him off of his broom. _Stupid wood, _he thought,_ what did it get in my way for? _

Just when he thought he was about to pass out, the crowd around the stadium began to scream and shout maniacally, instantly arousing Draco in the most unpleasant way possible. Yes, it was even worse than his mother waking him up at eleven o-clock in the morning on a Saturday.

What really made the arousal terrible was the fact that Potter was lying on the ground 15 feet away holding the golden snitch with what looked like the whole stadium surrounding him.

Outraged that no one was paying any attention to him, Draco started to moan and groan as loudly as possible so at least someone would take him to the hospital wing or something! He could have gotten a concussion! Of course he couldn't properly get better until something was done about that blasted piece of wood! If that wood wasn't expelled by tomorrow morning he was going to have his father pull him out and send him to Pigfarts instead. After all, it is _on Mars!_ And the head master, Rumbleroar, was way better than Dumbledore. Rumbleroar is a lion who can talk!

It wasn't until he woke up in the hospital wing that Draco realized he had gone unconscious sucking his thumb whispering, "Rumbleroar" and giggling.

Draco groaned loudly.

"Oh stop it Malfoy you can go!" Madame Pomfrey called from a particularly crowded bed.

"Dang Potter you took quite a spill." He heard a voice saying from across the room.

"I bet it's that lousy piece of wood over there." Draco muttered darkly. "He's _always _taking my spot light!"


End file.
